


Delicate and Rare: Christmas in Scotland

by ZionAngel



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZionAngel/pseuds/ZionAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last year, respected New York theater critic Anthony Gold dreamed of taking his girlfriend, up-and-coming stage actress Belle French, back to Scotland for Christmas and asking her to marry him.  But because Belle was starring in a Christmas play, he never got the chance.  This year, things are a bit different…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bad_Faery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Faery/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Delicate and Rare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/545943) by [Bad_Faery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Faery/pseuds/Bad_Faery). 



> Ironically, nothing turns you into a Scrooge - or kills your writing muse - quite like working at a nonprofit for kids at Christmas time. So unfortunately, this fic is coming in a little late. But better late than never! And how lovely that Bad-Faery is back to share in the joy!

Gold sits beside Belle on a garish – though surprisingly comfortable – bright teal couch in a rendition of a tiny 300 square foot apartment in the middle of Ikea.  He leans a little closer to her, enjoying her company even though she is focused on  the notebook in her lap, the calculator app on her phone open as she carefully determines the best way to cram as many bookshelves as possible into their spare bedroom.  She’s on her fourth diagram of the room, carefully drawn to scale, working and reworking it to find the best configuration.  He can’t help but smile at her look of concentration and the way she sticks her tongue out a little when she’s concentrating.  He’s glad she’s finally making their apartment her own after living together for several months now.

She looks up at the selection of bookshelves across the aisle, putting the end of her pen between her lips as she ponders.  She looks so utterly adorable and lovely like this, and it’s little moments like this that remind him yet again just how much he loves her.  That, in turn, tends to make him think of the finely-crafted three-stone diamond ring that lives in the back of his desk drawer at home, the ring that has been hidden there since he bought it over a month ago.

It’s rather a good thing he decided not to carry the thing around with him in his pocket.  With the way she looks right now, sweet and kind and so precious it makes his heart ache, he would be entirely too tempted to get down on one knee right here and now and ask for her hand in marriage right in the middle of Ikea.  He dreads the thought of what answer she might give if he did that.

He’s much less insecure about their relationship now than he once was, even just a few months ago, more assured that she loves him and wants to be with him for the long haul.  But he knows that’s no guarantee that she would say yes.  He has long feared that proposing, or doing anything that would give their relationship more permanency, might make her realize just what a mess she’s gotten herself into.  It might make her finally realize that she’s dating a man two decades her senior, and lame at that, and not particularly well-liked by the world.  He’s afraid she’ll finally come to her senses and leave him, and find someone younger and better and far, far more deserving of her.

He thinks back to last year, when he fantasized about taking her to Scotland for Christmas, about showing her off to his family and showing her that part of her life, of giving her the kind of wonderful adventure she dreamed of.  He wanted to take her for a walk and propose someplace beautiful and snowy, with Christmas lights everywhere, where she might be swept up in the moment enough to say yes.

He hasn’t thought of the idea in months, and it surprises him.  It’s September now, a little more than three months out from Christmas.  As much as the original idea was an elaborate fantasy, made impossible by the fact that she starred in a week-long Christmas play just before the holiday last year, it isn’t altogether unreasonable.  He could actually make it happen.  He has enough money to fund the trip without batting an eye, and if they started planning now, she could arrange her schedule to make it work.  Belle would love to travel, and she has said on multiple occasions how much she would like to see what his life was like before he came to New York, and meet the family who raised him.

He should ask her right now, he thinks, take some of that love and desire to propose and channel it into suggesting the trip, before he has a chance to lose his nerve or she makes other plans.  The thought makes him tense up and shift nervously at her side.

“Anthony?  Are you okay?”

Really, he shouldn’t be at all surprised that she noticed his agitation, perceptive thing that she is.  He stares at her, her sweet eyes staring into him with concern.  He clears his throat.

“Uh, well I was just thinking… when does your play end?”

“Um… the first week of December.  Why?”

He takes a deep breath to steady his nerves, and sends out a quick prayer to whatever deity might be listening.  “Well, I was thinking… perhaps we could fly to Scotland for Christmas.”

Her face immediately lights up.  “Really?”  He nods with a nervous smile.

“That would be amazing!” she laughs, all but pouncing on him and wrapping he arms tightly around his shoulders.  “I’d love to go!”  She pulls back just far enough to kiss him, the firm touch driving any lingering fear out of his head.

He holds her close, relieved and happy, and hopes that she gives an equally enthusiastic yes the next time he asks her an important question.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle spends her morning running back and forth between auditions for plays that start in the new year, everything from small, week-long plays spearheaded by reclusive high-art directors to months-long runs of literary favorites.  She is pleased with the feedback she receives from the casting directors, as well as the promises that she’ll hear back from them soon.  She makes it back home with just enough time to shower and slip into a purple dress that is fancy, yet comfortable, per Anthony’s request.

He told her he wanted to take her to an early dinner before their 5:30 flight to Scotland, a nice, romantic send-off to their trip to his home country.  But as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup and puts the last of her luggage by the door, she looks at the clock, and pauses to do the math.  At nearly 1:00 pm, she’s not sure how he figures this will work.

“Anthony?” she calls across the apartment.  “We should be at the airport by 3:30...  I don’t know if we’re going to have time to go eat and then come back for our luggage.  Maybe we should just eat here.”

“Not to worry love,” he says, kissing her on the cheek just as the doorbell rings.  “I’ve got everything planned out.”

He opens the door to reveal the building concierge with a luggage cart.  The man quickly loads up their suitcases as Anthony goes through the apartment, ensuring all of the lights are turned off.

“We’re not bringing our luggage into the restaurant, are we?” she asked, perplexed.

“Of course not,” he says from the living room.

“Shall I take these downstairs, sir?” the concierge asks.

“Yes, thank you.”

The concierge closes the door behind him as he disappears with their luggage.  Anthony takes her coat from its peg by the door, and she turns around to let him help her put it on.  “Well, we can’t leave our luggage in a cab,” she points out, not sure how he intends to solve this conundrum.

“Oh, heavens no,” he agrees, gently pulling her hair out from under the garment.  She turns to him and buttons up her coat while he shrugs into his own.  She collects her purse, and he his cane, and slips his arm around hers before shutting off the final light and heading toward the door.

“Then what are we going to do?”

He smiles mischievously as they step into the elevator, but doesn’t say a word the whole ride down.  The concierge is waiting for them when they reach the lobby, their luggage nowhere to be found.  Anthony gives the man his keys, to hold onto until their return, and they continue towards the door.  He still has that smirk on his face, and she doesn’t know whether to laugh or shake it out of him as the doorman opens the outer door for them, letting in a brisk burst of air, and revealing Anthony’s surprise.

Waiting on the curb directly outside the door is a shiny black limousine, with the primly-dressed driver standing beside it, waiting for them.  She stares up at him in surprise, and he smiles back at her, very pleased with himself.

“Anthony,” she stutters, not sure what to say as the driver opens the door.  “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Now what’s the point of traveling if you aren’t going to do it in style?”  She laughs, knowing there is no use arguing with him, and slips inside before the chill has a chance.

She snuggles against the buttery-soft leather seats, pressing against Anthony’s side as he takes his seat beside her.  She can’t keep from smiling up at him as he wraps his arm around her, keeping her warm during the leisurely ride to the restaurant.  “You’re so sweet to do this.”

She can hear the smile in his voice as he kisses her hair.  “Anything for my darling Belle.”

They share an early dinner – more like late lunch, really – at a not-too-fancy restaurant they’ve both been eager to try.  There are few other guests at this hour, so they are able to enjoy each other’s company and conversation without excessive noise around them or feeling like their private moments are being intruded upon.  She mischievously rubs her toe against the inside of his bad ankle, a gentle, tender touch against his old injury that doesn’t hurt, but is always sure to reduce him to a purring kitten.  He ends up staring at her with a dazed, loving half-smile as they eat, until she finally stops so that he can focus enough to eat the meal in front of him.  He seems equally grateful for and saddened by the lost touch.

After the leisurely meal, they return to the limo to head for the airport.  She sits on his right-hand side this time, wanting to be able to cuddle more comfortably.  She can’t help but press a tender kiss to his cheek, unable to find the words to thank him enough for all of this, or to tell him how unbearably excited she is.  She kisses him again on the corner of his mouth when he smiles at her, and the light touch quickly turns into a firmer, deeper one.  She buries her fingers in his hair, tugging gently and rubbing his scalp.  He moans quietly, his mouth slipping from hers, so she trails kisses and nips along his jawline instead.  As she shifts her attention to his neck and the exposed tendons of his throat, he relaxes in the seat, eyes drifting closed and head leaning back in ecstasy.  He makes the little barely-audible groaning sounds that she just adores, the ones that tell her he is utterly relaxed and more than a little bit eager.

An Idea strikes her then, fueled by the spark of heat those noises send down her spine.  A glance around the inside of the limo confirms that the windows are tinted, and the barrier between them and the driver is up.  No one can see or hear them, and her idea makes her blush, but also fills her with excitement.  She grins before nibbling a little more firmly at his throat.

She wraps her left arm around his shoulders, holding him close, and rubs her right hand down his chest and stomach in lazy patterns.  He is putty in her arms as she continues working at his throat, and her hand makes its way down over his belt buckle, to his lower belly, then outer thigh, until she is eventually rubbing slow, gentle circles on his inner thigh.  He doesn’t even seem to notice what she is doing, just keeps sighing and moaning at her kisses.

He soon begins to grow hard, though he still seems oblivious to any of it.  She helps him along, lightly rubbing her palm against him.  It’s only when he’s near full hardness that he snaps out of his love-sick daze and finally realizes what she’s doing.

He tenses and stares at her with nearly-black eyes, and looks between her hand and her face several times.  “Belle, what are you…?”  He doesn’t finish the question, likely because it’s really quite obvious what she’s doing.  “You don’t have to…”

She smiles, and kisses him chastely, sweetly.  “I know.  But I want to.”  She kisses him more deeply this time, terribly eager and aroused herself.  “I’m certainly having fun so far.  Aren’t you?”  She keeps rubbing with a bit more pressure, in all the ways she knows drive him wild.  She makes sure to let her pleasure show, smiling with half-lidded eyes and biting her lower lip.  She knows he’ll only agree to keep going if he thinks she’s enjoying it every bit as much as he is, if not more.

He’s far less anxious about sex now than he was when they first began dating – he no longer frets constantly over what he sees as a lacking performance, or thinks he’s sure to disappoint her.  All of it is due in large part to the fact that she finally managed to make him understand and really _believe_ that sex is a two-way street, that she loves giving him pleasure every bit as much as he enjoys giving it to her.  He understands now that he doesn’t have to ensure that she has half a dozen orgasms before he can have even one.  She’s proven to him on a number of occasions that a sexual encounter focused solely on him can be every bit as satisfying for her as hours of lovemaking.  Still, those one-sided encounters can make him a bit anxious, especially when she introduces an unfamiliar element – like doing it in the back of a moving vehicle.

His eyes are still nervous now, but eager, so she kisses him again, letting every bit of love she possesses pour into the gesture.  Finally, he relaxes in her arms and pulls her closer, kissing her back with fervor.  With a sigh of relief, she undoes his belt and fly, pushing his shirt up a ways to avoid a mess.  She takes out his hard length and savors the weight and heat of it in her hand.  He slips his tongue into her mouth, seeking out all her sensitive places, wanting to give her something in return.  She gratefully accepts as she begins a slow rhythm, stroking his shaft from tip to base and back again, swiping her thumb over the head.

She keeps her movements slow and controlled, drawing it out and doing everything she can to make it feel as good for him as possible.  He moans and sighs and makes a hundred other wonderful little noises against her mouth, sometimes unable to focus on kissing her at all.  She takes advantage of those moments, plundering his mouth and driving him out of his mind with every trick she knows.  He fights her back, of course, trying to regain control over the kiss, but after just a few minutes he is too wound up to concentrate, and can only submit to her, letting her take the kiss anywhere she wants it to go.

Gradually she picks up the pace, loving the way his breathing turns ragged and she can just barely feel his heart racing.  He clutches her close, alternately squeezing her arm tight and then rubbing it to sooth the hurt.  When she hears the hitch in his breathing that tells her he’s close and can’t hold back any longer, she pumps her hand faster, holds him as close as she can and kisses him with all the passion she can muster.  He goes tense and utterly still her arms for a moment, and then he comes, warmth spilling over her hand as he sinks his teeth into her lower lip.  When it’s over, he looks at her apologetically, swiping his tongue over her mouth, but she just strokes his hair, bringing him down with gentle kisses and a warm hand.  Finally his head falls back against the seat, and she just holds him, giving him a chance to catch his breath.  She cleans him up and tucks him back into his pants just as the limo pulls off the freeway towards the airport.  They are both smiling like fools the whole time.


	3. Chapter 3

A gentle hand on Belle’s shoulder shakes her awake, and a soothing, accented voice calls to her.  For a moment, she wonders why Anthony’s voice has lost its lovely brogue and taken on a much more feminine tone.

It’s only when she opens her eyes that she realizes the voice belongs not to her Anthony, but to the flight attendant.  “We’ll be landing in Glasgow in about half an hour, miss.”

“Oh.  Thank you.”  She cranes her head around to the folded-down first class seat beside her, where he is still sleeping soundly.  “I’ll wake him up,” she tells the flight attendant, who nods and moves down the row to the next sleeping passenger.

She rubs her eyes as she presses the button that will convert her first-class bed back into a seat, smiling at the novelty of it.  She would have been perfectly content with an ordinary chair with a little extra elbow room that only leaned back a little bit, but once again, Anthony went all out.  Each first-class seat stands alone, no fighting for space or being forced to talk to an impolite passenger beside her, with ample leg room and space to stretch out.  Each eat has its own TV screen, cup holders, fold-out tabletop, reading light, and every other comfort possible while flying over the Atlantic.  It’s all far more than she needed, but it’s lovely nonetheless, and she loves him for being so thoughtful.

She unbuckles her seatbelt, standing and stretching for a moment before resting on the edge of Anthony’s bed.  She takes a moment to just watch him sleep, admiring his features and thinking how lucky she is.  With a smile, she leans over and kisses him, resting her hand against his chest.  “Good morning, my love.”

His eyes blink open and he smiles back at her, before taking in their surroundings with some confusion.  “I forgot we were on a plane,” he murmurs, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“So did I.  You’re spoiling me with all this fancy travel and we haven’t even gotten there yet.”

He just grins up at her mischievously, and lifts the hand on his chest to kiss it.

The sky is still dark, with only the barest hints of light on the horizon when they land, but when they exit the plane she is shocked to discover it is nearly 8:00 in the morning local time.  “Glasgow is so far north that the days are only a few hours long in winter.”

“How could you even drag yourself out of bed in the morning like that?” she teases as they make their way through customs.

“I must admit, it could get rather dreary at times.”

“So you moved to the city that never sleeps at all?”

“Well, It had a few things to make the days a good deal brighter.”  He smiles again, kissing away the blush in her cheek.

“Come on, let’s go get our luggage before there’s a crowd.”

“Actually,” he says, tugging her hand.  “I have a better idea.”

As eager as she is to begin their adventure, she follows him without protest.  They stop for tea at a kiosk a few gates over, and continue on their way.  He leads her halfway across the airport until they find an empty terminal, and they take a seat in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.  He says nothing, only wraps his arm around her and kisses her hair.

She stares out the window, at the dark runway, luggage trucks passing by, with the lights of the city on the horizon.  Off to the right, a thin band of orange glows above the treeline.

Suddenly it hits her, and she pulls away just enough to stare up at him.  “Are we watching the sunrise?”

He doesn’t face her fully, looking sheepish, but nods.  She laughs happily, pulling him down for a kiss and tugging at the hair on the back of his neck.  “You’re such a romantic,” she murmurs against his lips.

He relaxes, smiling back.  “Well, it’s nice to have someone to be romantic _for_.”

After one last kiss, she snuggles against him, and they sip their tea in comfortable silence as the world slowly wakes up around them, and the sun comes up over Glasgow.


End file.
